Doctor's Orders
by schally
Summary: Matsudaria/Kusanagi. Just because.


**Doctor's Orders**

Azusa Matsudaria had always been a woman of science, a woman of logic, intellect, and natural curiosity.  Her interest in Mamoru Kusanagi was purely professional.

Of course.

She also had extraordinary self-control and discipline.  It wasn't often that she lost herself—watching his muscles ripple, the sun gleaming off his bronzed body—and when she did, she could easily dismiss it as scientific observation.

She was a scientist studying a specimen as any other scientist would.  The only difference was that her specimen was six feet of toned, lean, male twenty-something.  Other scientists should be so lucky.

Though the rite of matsuri had been performed successfully and the arigami threat was gone, at least for now, the TAC remained in tact.  She had asked repeatedly, patiently, for Kusanagi's participation in her research; finally, he acquiesced.  When she started scheduling his appointments with more frequency he did not complain.  She took this as encouragement, and when he walked into her office with his usual jaunt she saluted him with the sharp snap of the surgical glove on her left hand.

"Good evening, Kusanagi."

He seemed mildly surprised—she had never brought out the gloves _before_—and when he sat on the examination table it was with the slightest apprehension.

"What are those for?" he asked, his innermost pair of eyebrows furrowing.  Matsudaria was fascinated, but she had more pressing matters on her mind.

"Just a routine physical," she told him briskly, brushing by and feeling a little thrill when their bodies briefly touched.  "Please remove your clothing."

"Why?" he asked, his voice becoming surly.  He could become petulant at a moment's notice, but that was part of what endeared him to her.

"When was the last time you had one?" she asked, and when he didn't answer, she smiled.  "I thought so."

He began unbuttoning his shirt.  "You're not going to give me a shot, are you?" he asked, shrugging out of it.

"Don't be silly."  She plucked her clipboard from its peg and turned to him.  "Pants, Mr. Kusanagi," she said, tapping his still-clothed knee.

He blushed, adorably, and fidgeted.  "I don't—"  When she continued to look at him, not interrupting, he sagged his shoulders.  "I don't wear underwear," he muttered.

Now it was Matsudaria's turn to fight a rising blush, though she was certain he was too preoccupied with his own embarrassment to notice her titillation.

"That's fine," she told him, and he visibly relaxed.  She stood between his parted legs as she checked his eyes, ears, nose, her hands moving gently over his strong jaw.  She blew a husky breath onto her stethoscope, warming it before she checked his heartbeat.  She sought eye contact but he never relinquished it, preferring to stare over her shoulder at the wall.  

Well, fine.  She'd get his attention in due time.

"You know, Kusanagi," she said, pressing her palms against his firm, warm chest, "I'm not just a medical doctor.  If you need to tell me anything, I'm here."

He nodded, still gazing over her shoulder.

She pressed her hands along his hips, slipping her fingertips inside the waist of his pants.  "Anything at all."  Then, with purpose, she unzipped his pants, reaching inside to grasp him firmly.  He startled with a sharp gasp and grabbed her shoulders, his face burning crimson.

"D-Doctor, what are you—"

"Kusanagi, please.  It's just a routine physical."  Her tone was soft, gentle, and he relaxed.  "Trust is a very important part of the doctor-patient relationship—"

"No," he said, suddenly.  Then:  "No, it's not that.  I trust you."

She adjusted her grip and his body responded.  He closed his eyes, swallowed, and said, "I'm sorry."

"You're a healthy young man," she assured him.  "You're exactly as you should be."  _Are you ever_.  She released him.  He moved to zip his pants back up and she stopped him, her fingers coming to a rest on his.

"Kusanagi, have you…"  she hesitated and glanced to the side, feigning friendly discomfort, hoping he would take the bait.

He did.  "What?"

She glanced back at him, feeling a surge of triumph that she carefully kept in check.  "Have you had intimate relations with Momiji?"

He swallowed again—he was so adorable when he was nervous—and his gaze went over her shoulder again.  "No," he muttered.

"Is it because you don't want to, or—"

"No!  I mean, no, that's not… that's not it."

"It's all right," she told him.  "I understand.  Momiji is highly inexperienced and you may be afraid of losing control of your powers in the heat of the moment."

He looked at her, surprise alighting on his features.  "How did you—"

"It would only be natural to feel that way.  I may have a solution."  His expression was eager, skeptical, endearing…  She patted his hand.  "You may want to have a test run, so to speak, with someone more experienced.  Someone who understands your situation and won't be afraid to coach you."  She took a small step forward, pressing her chest lightly against his.  

His surprise deepened.  "You mean—you?"

"I am your doctor, after all."

"But Momiji—"

"Of course, everything you and I discuss—and any steps we take towards your physical and mental health—would be entirely confidential."

She could feel the heat of him against her.  His body was responding to her, and any fears she may have had of being old or unattractive were laid to rest in that moment.  

Tentatively, he touched her waist.  "Confidential?" he echoed.

"Of course."  She turned her face towards his and their lips met.  His kiss was strong, hot, and forceful; he wasn't holding back.  When they broke apart her voice was breathy.  "But you may have to attend several treatments before your condition is cured."  His hands crept up along her sides and she led them to unbutton her shirt and, then, to cup her breasts.

"Doctor's orders," she murmured playfully into his ear.

The appointment lasted long into the night.


End file.
